Being in the wrong place at the wrong time was all it took for Adelasia's whole life to turn upside down. After being captured by the heathens raiding her city and taken all the way to the cold North, the youngest Ragnarsson takes an interest in her...
The next morning she was woken up by the creaking of her own door and when she looked over her shoulder with a loud groan she noticed an older woman standing in her doorway. In her hands, she held a basket filled with several vials and bandages and after blinking the sleep from her eyes and realising that the woman was not merely a projection in one of her dreams, she shot out of bed like she'd been stung by a bee, smoothing down the ruffled fabric of her dressing gown. "I apologise, I must have slept in. What chores should I do?"
Her mind still foggy from the deep sleep, she suddenly realised that she couldn't remember how she had gotten into bed, nor the reason why she was still wearing her daily dress, instead of her nightgown. Slowly, but surely, the memories of the previous day dawned on her and she could feel her cheeks redden at the remembrance of Ivar's strong embrace. The older woman only smiled, though it was a sad smile as she sat down her basket on the single wobbly table.
"You have not missed your duties, young girl," the woman said, shaking her head. Her grey hairs had been braided back loosely, leaving enough loose strands to frame her gentle face. "My name is Frida and I'm one of the few healers that came from Kattegat. The Prince has asked me to treat the wounds on your back, so if you would expose your back and take a seat, I can get started."
Cautiously reaching around her back, Alasia realised that her dress was laced up once more and she couldn't help but wonder if Ivar had done that after she had fallen asleep. If he had, then he must have done it very gently, because now that she pulled the laces loose again, a great wave of pain crashed over her and she let out a loud hiss. Quickly blinking away the tears in her eyes, she took a seat on the chair Frida had pointed to, pulling her brown hair over her shoulder.
Frida dabbed some liquid from one of the vials on a clean bandage and walked over, a gasp leaving her mouth as her old eyes landed on Alasia's upper back. Carefully, the older woman reached out, her cold finger barely touching the irritated skin but making her flinch away in pain already. "You must have angered the Prince greatly, young slave," Frida said. Humming softly as if she was about to bathe a baby, she suddenly pushed the cloth against Alasia's back. The latter cried out in pain, quickly pushing her arm against her mouth to silence the sound. "I have never seen him hurt one of his slaves this bad."
"It wasn't the Prince," she managed to choke out, taking in a deep breath as the hot stinging sensation spread all over her back. Faced with the consequences of her own actions, she couldn't help but wonder how Marcuccio had suffered through all the times he had whipped himself in her chapel.
